


And From The Sea, Truth

by Lady_Darkness



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Not A Fix-It, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Pre-Slash, Stag Awards 2018 entry, Will figures things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 21:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Darkness/pseuds/Lady_Darkness
Summary: When he has recovered from the injuries he sustained in Mizumono, Will sails to Europe to find Hannibal and to figure out what to do with him. On the way, he finds himself contemplating his feelings for his former psychiatrist and friend.





	And From The Sea, Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Stag Awards. I didn’t win, but I loved writing it. Thank you CannibalsSong, Destinyawakened and Flatfootmonster for helping me out along the way <3

The air was cold and wet as the sailboat cut its way through the rough waves. Will felt each and every one hit the boat and smack him around a bit. The ease with which he moved around the slippery deck spoke of years of experience going about his way on the water. Nothing would have betrayed that it was, in fact, the first time in over fifteen years he’d sailed any further than a few miles off the coast, looking for some new and exciting fish to catch.

 

His stomach still smarted whenever he strained too hard in operating the sails, but the manual labor kept him busy. He knew he needed to keep his mind occupied to avoid getting lost in thoughts of Hannibal and what had happened months earlier. He had lost enough time lying around, first in the hospital and then at home, just thinking about all that had happened and mourning the loss of Abigail and his only remaining friend, who also was his enemy, or was he? Even after everything, Will wasn’t sure how to feel about Hannibal. He still considered him his friend, even though he felt mostly anger toward him at this point. It hadn’t been until he started building the boat, that he had been able to take control of his thoughts. The only times he still allowed himself to think about the man he was chasing after, was at night when all was quiet. 

 

_ “We couldn’t leave without you.” _

 

_ “I wanted to surprise you. And you… wanted to surprise me.” _

 

Will had spent many a night in his pitch dark cabin, remembering Hannibal’s words, before he had stabbed him and then after he had killed Abigail. The pain in the killer’s eyes had gotten to him from the moment Will had seen him, had seen the unshed tears, and he had realized he’d made a grievous mistake. At first, he’d thought his error had been underestimating Hannibal, but the longer he spent on his own, with nothing but the sound of the ocean to accompany him, the more he started to understand exactly where he had been wrong. He had gone in thinking Hannibal incapable of feeling anything resembling friendship--or, God forbid, love--without taking into account that he was no ordinary psychopath.

 

He shouldn’t have assumed anything.

 

Terribly torn, Will couldn’t help but know the other man had been right about him all along, and not only about his wanting to surprise him. He  _ had  _ set out to betray him, to make him believe it was all real, only to turn him in and see him punished at the end of the line. Will had wanted nothing more than to see Hannibal in his place, to turn the tables on him. It had all seemed so easy when he was locked inside the BSHCI, focused on nothing but revenge on the psychiatrist who had framed him for the crimes he himself had committed. He could still remember the feelings that had threatened to overwhelm him back then, the anger and betrayal, but he had also found himself relishing the game Hannibal had started between them, a dangerous and deadly game, designed to leave only one survivor. Sending Matthew Brown after the Doctor had sparked a sensation bordering on physical pleasure, and that elation had returned and heightened as he started his own, proper hunt. 

 

Going undercover had been easy in the beginning, but as their ‘conversations’ had grown more intimate, both men giving away more to one another than had been their intent, Will had understood his feelings for Hannibal were more complicated than he had anticipated going in. No amount of denying his innermost feelings would ever change him into what he had always wanted to be: a standup, normal, and decidedly non-criminal citizen. His mind found its way to the heads of the criminals he chased, and despite every precaution he had ever taken, he always brought part of them back when he returned from his trance. Hannibal had seen this from the moment he had set eyes on Will, but only now did Will start to understand his mind was much more complicated than he had ever wanted it to be. 

 

A wave hitting the side of the boat dislodged him from his comfortable position, and pulled him right out of his thoughts, making his head spin. His feet hit the floor and caught him before he could fall down. Disoriented, he grumbled in dissatisfaction and stood up to check on the instruments, making sure the anchor was still keeping him in place. Being jostled out of his thoughts like this was something he had always disliked. The feeling of being dropped back into the real world, with nothing to hold on never failed to leave him cold and clammy. This part of his gift generally made him feel very vulnerable for a few moments and that was why he’d always insisted on working crime scenes on his own instead of allowing the science team to keep working as he did his thing.

 

The air hitting his face as Will got topside was freezing, causing him stumble over the threshold and hit the railing. The salty smell of the ocean threatened to overwhelm his senses as he found his footing. He’d spent longer lying on his bed than he had thought. The sky was dark and no stars were to be seen. The soft glow of the moon haloed out from behind the angry, threatening dark clouds, from which fell a steady stream of rain. Hair plastered to his face in no time, but Will welcomed the icy rain pelting down against his cheeks, the stinging pain it caused a distraction from his predicament, and all the thoughts that came obsessively with it. He closed his eyes, aware of the burning sensation the icy rain caused on his skin, a dagger of ice picking repeatedly at his face. The cold water left a tearlike track as it made its way down his cheek and ended up wetting his collar even more. He ran over to the helm and checked the instruments there. A quick look reassured him everything was going to be okay, the boat could remain here until morning. 

 

Cold water started to seep through his sweater when he stood up to look over the ocean, or at least the part he could see. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself to keep his body temperature level. The wetness would get him in the end, but he didn’t want to go back inside, not yet. He needed to feel the rain and the cold hit him, like he was just another part of nature.

 

All around him there was nothing but salt water. The first hurdle he needed to overcome to continue his quest to find Hannibal was making it to the other side of the ocean in this boat that he built with his own hands. It hadn’t been smooth sailing up until now, quite literally, as the sea was rough and the weather unforgiving. He was happy to be able to fall back on his experience as a sailor so he could take care of himself. 

 

He didn’t know yet what would turn out to be the second one, or the third one for that matter. Would it be the authorities trying to stop him? No, he didn’t think so. The FBI was pretty sure he was the only one capable of finding their most wanted, and since Jack hadn’t given a damn about his emotional wellbeing before, Will was quite sure he wasn’t going to start caring now. He was on his own right now, and he wanted to meet Hannibal on his own terms, not while either of them was in custody of the FBI, or working with them. 

 

Maybe the next hurdle was his own mind. There were still many unresolved issues between him and Hannibal. Their relationship had been built on both deception and trust, and it had made Will uneasy. 

 

So much had happened between the two of them since the day they met. Will allowed himself to remember everything that had transpired, from their first meeting -Hannibal comparing him to a mongoose- to getting imprisoned on a false charge. Their conversations after Will’s release had been mostly fueled by his desire to catch Abigail’s killer, but there always had been an element of honesty in them. Will had noticed his feelings for the other man change and grow deeper, but when Hannibal had orchestrated his unborn child’s death, the anger and hatred had come back, with a vengeance. He needed to get closure, to be able to forgive Hannibal, to let him go and find peace for himself. That was if he could bring himself to grant Hannibal the forgiveness he had asked for right before he had killed Abigail, but he was not sure he could ever truly forgive him for his actions, even if they’d been brought on by his own. Leaving a man to die on your kitchen floor would do that, it didn’t solve anything. It only caused even more pain than they had already provoked in one another by their mutual assassination attempts and Will’s trying to bring Hannibal to justice. 

 

Will realized he probably would be better off if he gave up this hunt, this quest for justice. But was it justice he was after? Was it revenge? Or did he just want to throw himself at the mercy of a serial killer and beg him to take him away? His mind and heart were in a constant struggle when it came to wanting to go away with Hannibal, but neither seemed to be taking the upper hand. To finally be able to decide what he wanted, Will needed to find his former psychiatrist and friend, and nothing, or anyone, would stop him from doing exactly that, not even himself. 

 

Will suspected Hannibal would have fled to either Paris or Palermo, or perhaps Florence, where he had spent a good part of his youth. Knowing Hannibal as well as he did, he could guess wherever he would be, he would be part of the elite. He would hide in plain sight, just to enjoy deceiving the people around him. Bedelia would probably be with him, not as a prisoner, but posing at his wife or consort, unless he had disposed of her as soon as he was able to. No, he wouldn’t do that, not when she could be of use to him. Hannibal was an intelligent man, he knew a couple would be less conspicuous than a man alone. Would he assume another’s identity, or would he carve out a place for himself and Bedelia the way he had for Will and Abigail? He tried not to let that thought get to him, it was all on him either way. He was the one who had made the choice not to run away with Hannibal when offered. 

 

_ “We could disappear now. Tonight. Feed your dogs. Leave a note for Dr. Bloom, never see her or Jack Crawford again. Almost polite.”  _

 

That had been Hannibal’s final offer and Will hadn’t taken it. Will had known he was doing the right thing, removing a serial killer from the streets with as little bloodshed as possible,  and with supposedly no cost to himself. What he hadn’t known back then, not even the night he had rejected Hannibal’s offer, was that he  _ had  _ developed feelings for him that went way beyond the hate and disgust that had caused him to undertake this venture. 

 

“You’re lying to yourself, Graham. You’ve been lying to yourself all along,” he scolded himself while making his way back to his cabin with the intention to pour himself a stiff drink, but just the one.

 

Will hadn’t been drinking as much as he would have if he had stayed in Wolf Trap. If he hadn’t been busy building the boat, he probably would have died of alcohol poisoning by now. 

 

In a sense, it had been Hannibal who had kept him going, again. His image had been the first one he saw when he came to after the operation. Hannibal had looked like he had that last night in Baltimore, covered in blood and eyes wet with unshed tears. He’d locked eyes with the apparition and then felt his heart constrict, his anger rendered useless by the intense sadness he experienced at seeing that face again. His instinct had been to lift his hand and push the stray lock of hair from the hurt face hovering above his body, but a nurse had arrived almost immediately and told him not to move. With her arrival, the image had dissipated and it hadn’t come back for the rest of his stay. 

 

He’d endured Jack and Chilton’s visits, but he had looked forward to Abigail’s. Even though the girl had challenged him every time she had visited, he still wanted to see her, talk to her in a way he had never been able to when she was still alive. 

 

Sighing, he sat down on his bed, took out the bottle of whiskey, and a glass. Just one wouldn’t hurt, one to make the nightmares go away, to make Hannibal leave for the night. 

 

The blurred image of the doctor had been his constant companion since the day he had sailed off, he hadn’t been talking to him, like Abigail had in the hospital, but Will felt his presence keenly. Now he really needed a break. He poured a moderate amount in the glass and took two sips. He could feel the amber liquid burning its way down to his stomach, but he sensed something wasn’t right. Exhaustion and lack of food made their presence known. His head started to spin as he lay back on the pillow. Cursing himself for not taking better care of his still recovering body he put down the glass, taking a deep breath. He’d had enough, no more alcohol. He needed to be level-headed in the morning to continue his journey. After taking a few more deep breaths, he sat up and made his way to the galley, where he took a seat and drank a glass of water. His heartbeat slowed down and his muscles relaxed as he swallowed the cool liquid. 

 

“Hi, Will.” The soft and feminine voice made him jump and hit his head against the ceiling. He rose too quickly and sat back down, clutching his head. Eyes watering, Will massaged his skull where it had collided with the ceiling.

 

“Didn’t I leave you at home?” he asked, looking in the general direction the voice had come from. 

 

“Drinking at sea, Will? I thought you were better than that.” Abigail tutted as she made her way to sit next to him. She was still wearing the clothes she had worn when Hannibal had slit her throat, but now they weren’t covered in blood. In fact, she looked very much like an adult version of the young girl she had been back in Hannibal’s kitchen. It was as if she had grown up after her demise. Her hair fell down her face, covering the scar where her ear had once been and her eyes were clear, not drowning in tears like the last time he had seen her alive. 

 

“Better than what? I should be dead, not you.” he grumbled, making a grab for her arm, but his hand just passed through her, hitting nothing but air. He almost laughed at the stupidity of trying to physically catch a phantom. However, he felt strangely reassured by her presence, but the words coming out of her mouth were just as cruel as the thoughts he had tried to bury since he had woken up in the hospital. 

 

“You let him kill me, twice, Will. He carved out a place for me in your world, but you denied us time and time again.”

 

Will closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, his regret threatening to spill over into tears. There was no way he was going to allow himself to cry. He knew she was right. Part of him knew she was a figment of his imagination, brought to life only to allow himself to speak the accusations aloud, but another part of him, the one that had desperately wanted to be her father, couldn’t help but see her as a living person, like she had been before he had gotten involved in her life. 

 

“You brought this down on yourself, you know?” Abigail’s small but firm voice made him come back to reality again. 

 

“How could I not? He’s a killer, the most dangerous killer I have ever hunted. I had to… I couldn’t let him roam free,” he murmured, conveniently forgetting he had been the one to warn Hannibal, to derail their plans for that evening. If he had kept up the charade, no one would have been the wiser until he could no longer avoid making the ultimate choice between his selfish desire to be seen and justice for the victims of the Chesapeake Ripper. 

 

He had imagined the outcome of that particular dinner party countless times since he had woken up in the hospital, chained to the bed by tubes and his guts held in place by stitches and a huge bandage. Of all possible outcomes, this was the least favorable, but when he’d seen Abigail appear in the doorway, he had been able to smile. The thought of the three of them getting away and living together like a family had been appealing back when Hannibal had first spoken of her as their daughter, but, lying in the hospital recovering from his wounds, it downright cut through him like Hannibal’s linoleum knife had. 

 

“You made your choice, Will. You chose to throw away what you could have had. Have you ever considered he actually loved you?”

 

Will closed his eyes, trying to force her out of his head, but her image and voice persisted.

 

“He doesn’t… he is a psychopath. He is obsessed with my mind, and that was it. He is not capable of feeling things the way we do.”

 

Abigail scoffed, her light blue eyes fixed on him. 

 

“How convenient it must be for you to think that,” she whispered, getting up to go and stand near the door. 

 

“Abigail, would you still go with him? I need to know.” Will’s voice was shaky as he asked the question he didn’t really want to know the answer to. 

 

“Yes,” she replied, quickly and without any hint of hesitation in her voice.

 

Will closed his eyes as he finished the last of his drink, enjoying the feel of the cool water in his burning throat. His eyes itched and he felt his throat constrict, like every time he thought about what had happened between him and Hannibal. He wanted to cry, he wanted to not be alone, he wanted someone to understand him, to be there for him when the visions got to be too much. He could have had that with Hannibal, with Abigail, if he had just let it happen. 

 

With a smack he put down the glass and glared accusingly at the doorway he had last seen Abigail. He didn’t regret catching Hannibal, nor did he regret hurting him. The psychiatrist had had it coming, it had been the reckoning Will had promised him. But why did it have to hurt so much?

 

Will sighed, torn between anger, sadness and despair. Tears threatened to leak out of his eyes as he made his way back to the cabin to get some much needed sleep.

 

The next few days passed in the same way. Will got up early and started the boat to cover as much distance he could in the time he was awake and alert enough to sail. The pangs of pain in his abdomen started to fade, which meant he no longer lay awake every night thinking of Hannibal touching his face, hugging him close as the burning pain in his gut took over his whole being. That didn’t mean he could forget all about him. Hannibal had his hands wrapped firmly around his mind, but the longer he was out at sea, the less time he spent actively thinking about the other man. Every time he changed his clothes he saw the scar Hannibal had left. The skin was still red and the mark was raised, even after all these months. Hannibal had known where to cut, and Will had not only let him, but he’d held him afterwards. Not one day went by that he didn’t touch it, wishing it was Hannibal’s hand, able to undo the damage he had caused. 

 

He was starting to feel stronger again when he got on deck a few days after his small breakdown in the galley. He had taken care of himself, made sure he ate right and no more drinking. He didn’t want to be confronted with Abigail anymore, he couldn’t take her cutting looks and astute remarks just yet. 

 

The weather was nice for the time of the year. The sky was crystal clear, not a cloud to be seen. The ocean was dark blue, nearly black, and there was hardly a ripple visible on the surface. The winter sun shone on Will’s face and made the clammy feeling he had had since his departure disappear. For a moment, he felt at peace, like he had been back in his youth, when he was on his own, far from other people and their emotions, or before he had met Jack and Hannibal. 

 

He couldn’t bear to think of either right now. Good guy Jack, pushing him around until he got the desired result, without taking Will’s own mental health into consideration. He’d always been vulnerable because of the combination of his gift and his rigid morals, and Jack had jumped in and used him for his own ends. The only thing Jack had cared about in the end was catching the criminals, no matter the cost. 

 

It was ironic that it was Jack who’d sent him to Hannibal, one of the most dangerous serial killers alive, and one Jack would never have sniffed out if it wasn’t for Will. And then there was Hannibal, who had successfully framed him for his own crimes and then gotten him off by committing even more. Yet still, he couldn’t stop feeling friendship for him, just as powerful as the anger and hatred he carried around right now. 

 

His eyes spit fire as he pushed away the thought of the two men who had destroyed him, who he had allowed to destroy him. He let the anger take him over for a moment as it gave him an energy boost that made him feel stronger. That feeling of power, the strength he found in himself when he had a goal to reach went against Jack’s perception of him as fragile. He knew he was a force to be reckoned with, and both Hannibal and Jack would find out in time. Letting go of that burst of anger went easier than he imagined, and he turned his focus back on his course. 

 

Will looked at his itinerary with a weary smile. Even though the weather hadn’t been always as nice as it was now, he seemed to have lost no more than half a day, going by his first calculations. If everything went well, he should arrive in another four days. The realization should have made him feel better, accomplished even, but in truth it only added to the weight on his shoulders. 

 

In only four days he would arrive at the continent where he supposed Hannibal was hiding. But was he really hiding? Would he go back to the Norman Chapel in Palermo, the one he had described in detail that day they had burned almost all of the doctor’s files in preparation of their running off together, or would he find another place to live out his life? 

 

Will felt something tug at his heartstrings as he remembered that conversation. The room had taken on an intimate quality, and to be honest, at that point he hadn’t been acting. The Will that had helped Hannibal burn his notes and prepare for his disappearance was as close to the  _ real  _ Will he would ever get. Never had he felt so seen and accepted in his life. He hadn’t shared intimacy on that level with anyone before he had met Hannibal. Crushed after discovering the way the older man had betrayed him, he had really wanted to put him away for life, but the friendship that had evolved during their sessions, before and after his time at the BSHCI, had been impossible to destroy. Even after what had happened, he still felt irresistibly drawn to the other man. 

 

Will had felt and allowed the friendship to grow and become deeper with every moment he had spent with Hannibal. Even though they had still tried to outwit and beat each other in the inevitable mind games, there had been a bond, stronger than any he’d ever had in his life. When he had delivered Randall’s beaten and broken body at Hannibal’s doorstep, he had been consumed with rage, and then with want when the other man had taken care of his hands. The intimacy of that act had hit him with the force of a tsunami. That was the first time he had realized his feelings for Hannibal were slightly more complicated than he cared to admit. 

 

In the next weeks, Will had made an effort to reach the darkest parts of him, all in the name of seducing Hannibal to admit to his crimes, but if he was honest with himself, he knew the only thing he had accomplished was making himself more comfortable with the thought of murder. Not killing Freddie, but using her to ensnare Hannibal in his trap had been one of the hardest decisions he had ever made. How he would have loved to see the light in her bright eyes die out while his hands slowly crushed her windpipe, but he had not allowed the monster inside of him to take control. Knowing what would happen if he were to present Hannibal with a piece of meat, taken from his own victim, he had been able to talk her into helping him catch the killer. 

 

The look Hannibal had given him when he had told him about the origins of the meat they were about to have had been one of warmth and acceptance. Hannibal had looked at Will with pride, like a mentor whose student had surpassed all expectations, but the fire in those eyes had hinted at deeper feelings. Feelings Will was sure Hannibal couldn’t experience, being the way he was. He had alluded to feeling alone and wanting someone to see him, like he saw Will, but Will had never believed his feelings were genuine, unlike his own. Hannibal was an of yet unknown sort of criminal, showing traits of psychopathy, but not diagnosed.

 

That night had been the first of many he’d gone home doubting his goal, doubting his alliance with the FBI and the consequences of what he had embarked on the night he went back to Hannibal’s office,  _ to resume his therapy _ . He hadn’t slept at all that night. His mind had kept going back to the looks Hannibal had given him during dinner and after. Their veiled conversation had taken an interesting turn when they had finished the bottle of wine by the crackling fire. Will had taken his place on the chair closest to the hearth. He had swished the wine in the glass, mesmerized by how the liquid clung to the inside. He’d looked up and found Hannibal closing in on him, never taking his eyes off Will’s face. Their eye contact had lasted longer than was usually the case, and Will hadn’t backed down this time, having kept his eyes on Hannibal’s until the other man had cast down his. He’d felt slightly triumphant when he realized he had succeeded in making Hannibal back down first. It had been a sign of his feelings towards Will, a way to show him he was willing to let him come closer, to let down his guard. Will had lapped it up and smiled at the progress he had made in getting Hannibal to slip up, but he hadn’t been able to shake the uncomfortable feeling that had crept up on him. 

 

The wind played with his hair, like it had done all the previous days, but now the breeze actually succeeded in distracting him from his thoughts. He shook his head and focused on the ocean, trying to keep on course so he wouldn’t lose more time on the way. Part of him enjoyed crossing the ocean this time of year. The road was full of danger, but that only strengthened his focus, even though he was in dire need of more sleep. His stomach wound hadn’t healed as well as it should, thanks to Will being stubborn and refusing to lie down and just rest. He felt the skin on his stomach throb as he walked the deck, checking if everything was where it should be. 

 

When he was finished he sat down at the helm, releasing a deep breath. The trip was long, and it didn’t seem to shorten, no matter how much closer he got every day. The solitude was getting to him. He missed his dogs, he missed the way Winston kept him company all day when he was home, he even missed Buster not obeying commands and getting out of the house without permission. Swallowing the emotion that came over him when he remembered them, now being taken care of by Alana and Jack, he pushed himself to look out over the ocean instead of wallowing in feelings of self-pity. In the end, he had chosen to chase Hannibal instead of staying home with his pack.

 

The man never ceased to take up space in his memory palace, and Will didn’t even know if he wanted to banish him or keep him there forever, continuing the conversations they had shared over the last months. He kept seeing him in his office, by the stream and everywhere he went in his mind. Hannibal had completely taken over his thoughts. He really needed to stop thinking about him if he ever wanted a chance of having a new, normal life. He had already decided he was going to quit after he had seen Hannibal again. Whatever happened, Will wouldn’t return as an FBI consultant, he was going to go away and start anew. What would happen during the confrontation with Hannibal, Will didn’t know, and he didn’t want to try and predict the way it would go either. He only wanted to see his friend again, the one he had been betrayed by and who he had set up to feel exactly the same. 

 

Once again, the image of Hannibal came to his mind, sad and betrayed, like he had been that night in Baltimore, and it managed to tear his heart out.

 

“You need to stop doing this, Will.” The voice came from behind him this time. Abigail stood at the back of the boat this time, still dressed in the same clothes, but now her hair was pulled up in a bun, so Will could see the scar where her ear had once been. 

 

“Stop what, exactly?” he asked, irritation obvious in the way he talked to her. It had been the second time she showed up out of the blue. He’d been lightly affected by the alcohol when she first visited him, but he didn’t know what brought on the hallucination this time. 

 

“Pining for him? Wondering what would have happened if you hadn’t gone through with it? If you had run away with him?” she said, dismissive of all thoughts he’d had previously. Her face told him she was done with his moping about, but he couldn’t help it.

 

“I am not pining for Hannibal Lecter, Abigail,” he said in a firm voice, looking first at his shoes and then at the ocean, everywhere but in her direction. His feelings for Hannibal were infinitely more complicated, but he didn’t want to talk to her about them. 

 

“You know why I’m here, right? You keep conjuring me because your head is so far up your ass when it comes to Hannibal, you can probably see the back of your throat. I am a part of you, Will. The part of you that wants what he had offered you, what he might still offer you if you find him. He’s making it easy for you, he wants you to come to him.”

 

Will held his head in his hands and sighed deeply. He wasn’t ready to deal with this--with these feelings., What did he want when he found Hannibal? He didn’t know. How did thinking of Hannibal make him feel? When he remembered their conversations, and revisited those they’d had in his memory palace, shaped like Hannibal’s old office, he still felt both anger and a deep sense of loss. He had never experienced a sense of loss like this one as when he had discovered Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, and when no one had taken him seriously. Still, after the whole ordeal, his time in the BSHCI, and the subsequent undercover operation, he’d had the feeling Hannibal was the only friend he had. In his company, Will had felt more like himself than ever before. Having felt the warmth and connection of friendship, and then having denied himself that friendship, Will was more bereft and lost than he had ever felt before Hannibal had come into his life.

 

Will missed the man he had believed to be his friend, the one he had confided his innermost thoughts and feelings to. He smiled wanly when he thought of Hannibal’s own smile, those lush lips folding back over the uneven but spotless teeth in a wolfish expression. How anyone had ever believed this man to be anything else than the predator he was, Will couldn’t understand. Once he had seen past the facade, beyond the person suit, the killer on the inside had been clearly visible. And still, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from falling for him. 

 

“You love him, Will. He’s the only friend you ever had, the only one to accept and admire you for who you are, and who you could be if you would just allow yourself to give in,” Abigail continued her onslaught in his ears, even though she had disappeared by now. All that was left was her voice. 

 

Rain started to fall again, wetting his hair and his coat, but Will only smiled. He was going to forgive Hannibal, just like he had asked back in his kitchen, before he had plunged the knife in Will’s gut. His hand found its way to his back pocket, where he always kept his trusty knife. His fingers curled around the hard metal shape inside his pants. With a gentle squeeze, he let it go again. That was his forgiveness, and he intended to give it to Hannibal one way or another.

 

_ Hannibal walked in front of him, somewhere in a busy French or Italian street. He had recognized him immediately by his elegant posture, and the impeccable way he was dressed. Will moved closer without making a sound, his hand flying to his pocket where he kept his knife.  _

 

_ In a swift move he grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder, he turned him around and plunged the blade in his stomach, leaving him to bleed out on the street. _

 

_ “I forgive you,” he murmured before walking away without another look in the direction of the dying man at his feet. _

 

Will’s heart almost beat out of his chest as he came back from his mind, from the cruel, yet satisfying images it had subjected him too. He could see it happen exactly like that, part of him wanted to forgive him the same way Hannibal had forgiven him, with the sharply honed blade of a knife. 

 

Another part of him wanted something else to happen when he finally saw Hannibal again. The part of him that still cherished their friendship, the bond they had formed in spite of their mind games and attempts to kill each other, wanted to truly forgive Hannibal for what had happened. That was the dark side he knew he had in him, the one who wanted to commit all the acts they had theorized about during their conversations. That side was desperate for Hannibal’s forgiveness, as it realized the pain he had inflicted on the other man in betraying him the way he had done. 

 

_ Hannibal walked in front of him, somewhere in a busy French or Italian street. He had recognized him immediately by his elegant posture, and the impeccable way he was dressed. Will got closer without making a sound, but his hand hesitated as it reached the knife he kept in his pocket.  _

 

_ He pulled back his hand and scraped his throat to draw Hannibal’s attention. He turned around, the frown on his face vanishing as soon as he saw Will. A dazzling smile took its place, a smile that reached his golden eyes and bared his less than perfect teeth. Will could feel the emotion welling up inside of him. This was what he wanted, the two of them together again. As he neared Hannibal, he could feel the hole that had taken shape inside of him ever since that night start to heal. When he was close enough, he held out his hand and took hold of Hannibal’s arm, drawing him in an embrace. _

 

_ “I forgive you,” he whispered in Hannibal’s ear. _

 

A single tear found its way along his cheek when he returned to his actual situation instead of inside his mind. Once, he would have found this outcome preferable to the one where he killed Hannibal, but since he had thought nothing of killing Will’s offspring as well as their surrogate daughter, he couldn’t extend the same courtesy. He wanted to hurt him, physically, to exact revenge on the man who had turned him inside out. 

 

“So, Will… do you still want to go to him? After all that has happened?” Abigail’s voice still floated in his head. 

 

“I want to see him again,” he said, out loud, and looking around to make sure no one could hear him, not even Abigail’s ghost in his head. He felt ashamed of his need to see Hannibal, to not just take him in or kill him. What he wanted most of all was a simple conversation, like the dozens they’d had before the night he got his stomach sliced open. He smiled, staring at the blackness of the ocean, and allowed the rain to soak his coat until he could no longer suppress a shiver. 

 

On the final night, before he was supposed to arrive in Italy, Will had another nightmare. 

 

_ The harshly lit street was empty, except for the lone biker who made his way through the night. His lights hurt Will’s eyes as the driver made his way straight to where Will was standing. He couldn’t keep his eyes of the figure slowly drawing nearer. Was it a man, a woman? The closer the vehicle seemed to get, the more the driver’s silhouette seemed to distort.  _

 

_ Will squinted against the blinding lights, but he couldn’t stop looking as the biker seemed to sprout antlers from the sides of his helmet. He lifted one hand, allowing Will to see his fingers grow into long and strangely elegant claws, ready to tear out the hearts of their victims. Will’s heart beat faster when he realized this was the wendigo, the one he had associated with the Chesapeake Ripper since early on. The monster was coming for him, but as Will got closer, it didn’t look as if it prepared to attack him.  _

 

_ It stopped when it had reached Will, and moved to get off the bike. To his surprise, Will didn’t feel threatened by the wendigo’s presence. On the contrary, he felt welcomed by the darkness surrounding it; he felt safe.  _

 

_ With a careful smile, he moved closer to where the wendigo was waiting next to the bike, the helmet still on and both claws in front of him. It had obviously chosen to assume a pose that was not threatening to Will, but the visible claws would probably scare off anyone else who even thought of coming closer. Will couldn’t keep his eyes off the red orbs glowing through the helmet’s visor. He saw the evil in them, the need to kill and maim, but he wasn’t repelled by it at all.  _

 

_ He continued his way towards the strange creature until he was close enough to touch. The bond between them was strong and clearly visible to the naked eye. It had taken the shape of a burgundy and gold string, spun between Will’s hands and the creature’s claws. When Will looked down and noticed its existence he stopped moving. He gently touched the thread and lifted it so he could see it better. He let it slide through his fingers, enjoying the silky feel of the fabric against his skin. The thin thread had a delicate quality to it, it looked fragile, as if it would break at the first sign of resistance.  _

 

_ Panic took a hold of him and he grabbed the thread, trying to break it. The string may have looked delicate, but as soon as Will made an attempt to sever the link, he found himself unable to. His hands wouldn’t cooperate when he tried to pull away from the creature standing patiently in front of him. They continued their way to the other’s waist, as if they had a mind of their own,  and held on to the soft leather of the jacket.  _

 

_ As he was about to embrace the wendigo like an old friend, he saw a flash of hurt and anger in the red glowing eyes. Tears formed in the corner of Will’s eyes when he drew nearer, and a sudden cold enveloped the smaller man. He tried to pull back, but it was too late. The creature’s claws had found their way to the soft flesh of his stomach and cut him open, leaving his upper body to fall on the wet street. _

 

“Hannibal, no!” Will cried out as he woke up. His chest heaving, he took long and deep breaths to try and calm himself down, but it wasn’t working. Fear had him in its grip. He looked all around him, to see if he could find the wendigo from his dream somewhere on the boat. Pulling the blanket around him, he stood up and first went to the galley and then on deck, to make sure he was alone. 

 

He snorted derisively when he caught himself wanting to call out Abigail’s name. This was not a time to count on a hallucination to make him feel better. He needed his wits about him so he could dock the boat as soon as he arrived. It would take him some time to make it to the Norman Chapel in Palermo. He was sure Hannibal would be there, or he would have left a clue for him to find his current location. He knew the man well enough to know he wanted to be found, that he needed closure just as much as Will did. 

 

Will found his way back on deck, he needed to be outside, to feel the biting cold of the night on the Mediterranean Sea. Today he would arrive in Palermo, not for a few hours, but he would be docking his boat in the harbor of the city he and Hannibal had talked about, one of the many Hannibal had so desperately wanted to show him. He slapped his hand against his head, cursing softly.

 

“Hannibal… What have you done to me?” he whispered, but the weeping wind took the sound with it, allowing Will to pretend he hadn’t said it at all. 

 

His heart grew heavier with every mile he got closer. Even after his time on the water, after all the time he’d had to reminisce, to decide what he wanted to do when he found Hannibal, he still didn't know. It was as if not only his life had been divided in two, but his whole self had been split. A part that had existed before Hannibal, and one that had been forged after he had met the doctor. The two parts seemed to be at war. His former self wanted to bring in the killer, put him behind bars and never think about him again while the other part, the part that had known his friendship and mentorship, still wanted to run away with him. 

 

Will knew he needed Hannibal to scoop him up and take him away, so he didn’t have to take any responsibility for leaving everything behind. He knew he could never consciously take the decision to leave with Hannibal and to let him continue his extracurricular activities. He didn’t want the responsibility of being the man who had let a serial killer go free, but he knew he wouldn’t leave his side if Hannibal would just take him away from everything. 

 

That was not taking into account that he would probably still fight tooth and nail not to become a killer, not to have the choice taken from him. He also knew he would never allow Hannibal to influence him on that level and that it would possibly end as bloody as the night in Baltimore had, but right now he was tired, and he wanted it all to end. And most of all, he wanted his friend back.

 

Three days later, he found himself in the Norman Chapel, with a corpse shaped like a heart in front of him, and commendatore Pazzi questioning him. His heart had sunk when the Italian had shown him the picture of a young Hannibal and asked what his intentions were. 

 

_ “What are you going to do when you find him? Your Il Mostro?” _

 

_ “I’m curious about that myself.” _

 

His conversation with the Commendatore hadn’t taken long. His steps were slow and deliberate as he walked into the dark, leaving commendatore Pazzi behind. 

Will took in the dank smell hanging in the catacombs. All of his senses told him Hannibal would be here, possibly hiding behind one of the pillars, waiting for Will to come and find him. He knew the man better than he knew himself, and to be honest, he had shown enough of his true self for Will to be able to figure him out. Like he had said to Abigail when he sat on the stairs of the altar, he _ did _ feel closer to Hannibal here. If he didn’t make a sound, he could almost hear the other man breathe. He knew he had to be close. 

 

“Hannibal,” he whispered, his voice strong but fragile, “I forgive you.”

 

He turned around and looked up. A man, dressed in leather and shrouded in the shadows, was looking intently at him. Hannibal. Will’s breath hitched as his eyes registered his friend’s presence. His mouth was dry when he tried to slow down his heartbeat. Of all places in the world, he had known he would find Hannibal here. Their conversations all had lead up to this point, this moment of truth. He held the golden gaze he would recognize everywhere until he heard the noise of running water through the catacombs. He looked down to his shoes and saw them getting covered in a dark substance he thought was blood. Realizing this was a hallucination, just like Abigail had been during his trip and in the chapel, he looked up and saw no one. He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to imagine Hannibal up there, looking at him, willing him to go away together, even after everything that had happened. He grasped the knife in his pocket tight and made his way out. He needed to find Hannibal again, but what he was going to do when he found him… he still didn’t know.

  
  



End file.
